


Sponsor

by LearnedFoot



Series: "Branding" [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Clothing Kink, Endgame? What Endgame?, Frottage, Getting Together, M/M, Masturbation, Porn with Feelings, sugar Daddy vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:28:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26358739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/pseuds/LearnedFoot
Summary: The first time Peter wears a suit Mr. Stark bought him, Mr. Stark looks like he wants to pounce.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: "Branding" [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1922926
Comments: 31
Kudos: 500
Collections: We Die Like Fen 4: We Lived to Die Afen, We die afen and afen





	Sponsor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HogwartsToAlexandria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HogwartsToAlexandria/gifts).



> Hello my dear. This is for your bottom!dom!sugar dady!Tony prompt. Except then they kept flirting and buildup and also I got tired and anyway, they never got to the part where Tony revealed his bottom-y ways. 
> 
> But. I have ideas. So, I owe you one (1) follow-up to this fic. Maybe it will happen during this anon period. Maybe it will not. But either way, I promise it will in fact happen, in suitably WDLF-y chaotic ways. And in the meantime, I hope this fulfills enough of your (somewhat accidental, though he kind of knows what he’s doing) sugar daddy freeform needs to be satisfying. 
> 
> **A Note of Content:** Setting wise, this is _Endgame_? What _Endgame_? Assume Tony is alive and single, plz. Peter is a senior in high school. CNTW only because that makes him seventeen, which is legal in New York but not on AO3. Everyone is fully on board and happy with the proceedings.

The first time Peter wears a suit Mr. Stark bought him, Mr. Stark looks like he wants to pounce. The expression is striking, undeniable even from across the crowded gala—so undeniable Peter believes what he’s seeing, even though the idea of it is crazy. It only lasts a few seconds, and then Mr. Stark is turning to Thor with a smile. But it happened, it definitely happened.

If Peter had any doubt, it’s thrown out the window when Mr. Stark finally comes over to say hi.

“Nice suit,” he says, reaching out to smooth the collar, as if Peter’s personal space is obviously his to invade. Which—not wrong. Definitely not wrong. “It looks good on you.”

He doesn’t pull his hand back. He leaves it there, fingers grazing Peter’s skin.

“I—um—I have a very generous sponsor?” Peter says, then winces. _Sponsor_? What the hell, Parker.

Mr. Stark laughs, short and delighted. “What are you, a race car driver?”

“Yeah, I…sorry.” Words. What happened to his ability to make words? “You know what I mean. I’m trying to say thank you.”

“In that case, you’re very welcome.”

His fingers still haven’t left Peter’s neck. They stay there, beat after unbearable beat, until the clink of metal against glasses signals that the boring speech-giving part of the night is about to start.

“That’s my cue,” Mr. Stark says. His hand slides down, squeezing Peter’s shoulder for a moment, and then he’s gone, leaving Peter with nothing but an unbearably dry mouth, an embarrassing erection, and a lot of questions.

***

When he comes into the lab the next Tuesday for his weekly actually-an-internship-now lab session, Peter’s surprised to find a nondescript brown paper bag at his desk.

“What’s this?” He doesn’t bother to wait for an answer before pulling it over and looking in. He expects something science related, maybe new parts for the bot he’s building, but instead he’s greeted with a Stark Industries sweatshirt. And, when he reaches inside to rummage around, also some SI t-shirts, and a few with Iron Man on the front.

Out of nowhere, Mr. Stark is behind him, crowding him against the desk, one hand falling to Peter’s hip.

“It’s branding,” Mr. Stark says and _damn_ , his mouth is really close to Peter’s ear. The warmth of his breath does crazy things to his senses.

Peter twists in place so they’re facing each other, only to realize that was a terrible idea. Now, instead of being close to Peter’s ear, Mr. Stark’s mouth is really close to his _mouth_ , which is somehow ten times worse.

“Branding?” he parrots back, trying to make the word make sense.

“For my little race car driver,” Mr. Stark explains, as if that’s at all a reasonable thing to say. As if this is at all a reasonable gift to give.

“Oh. Ha ha. Very funny, Mr. Stark.”

“I thought so.”

The corner of Mr. Stark’s lip twitches, and then, as quickly as he appeared by Peter’s side, he’s gone, back to his desk, suddenly absorbed in work.

***

Peter is not proud to admit that he wears the t-shirts to bed every night that week—or that he spends those nights jerking off to the idea of Mr. Stark buying him more clothing, more things with his name on them. On one particularly intense night, he even imagines getting Mr. Stark’s name tattooed across his back, which is so hot he surprises himself by coming in only a few strokes, accidentally spattering across the t-shirt.

 _Branding_. He would laugh at himself if he weren’t so totally, utterly fucked.

***

He spends a lot of time thinking about how to play this. Assuming he’s right that there is a “this” to play—but he’s pretty sure there is. The sweatshirt is big on him, long enough to hang down past his waist, and he passed a pleasant Spanish period fantasizing about showing up to his next lab session in the sweatshirt and nothing but the sweatshirt. It’s just bold enough that it might put Mr. Stark at a loss for words, which would be a fun accomplishment.

But then he considers what would happen if he _is_ reading this wrong and wants to straight up die on the spot, so that plan is out.

He does wear the sweatshirt, though. Just, you know, with pants and stuff, too.

Turns out, that’s good enough: the minute he walks into the lab, Mr. Stark’s eyes go dark like they had at the gala. A second later, Peter is being shoved against a desk and consumed in a kiss that leaves him spinning. Fuck. He didn’t know kissing could be like this: hot and possessive and confident and _God_ , it’s amazing.

“This is okay, right?” Mr. Stark asks, pulling back long enough to let Peter respond. “I’m not misinterpreting the sweatshirt?”

Peter almost laughs. “Yeah. Yeah, _okay_ doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Mr. Stark smiles a blindingly sincere smile before kissing Peter’s jaw, then behind his ear. “I can’t believe you wore it.” 

The nothing-but-a-sweatshirt move might be off the table—in retrospect, he totally should’ve gone for it—but Peter had a lot of time over the last week to think about the kinds of things he would like to say in this situation, if he was cool and confident and smooth. Things he never thought he’d actually have the nerve to let leave his mouth.

Turns out having Tony Stark biting at his neck, beard prickly and tickling, gives him a lot of nerve.

“Of course I wore it,” he whispers. Okay, whimpers. That was definitely more like a whimper. Which, not smooth, but he pushes through. “How else will people know I belong to you?”

Mr. Stark freezes, and for a terrible second Peter thinks he went too far. But then Mr. Stark’s mouth is slamming into his with a whole new level of fierceness.

“Fuck, kid,” he growls between kisses. He thrusts his hips forward, and Peter can feel how hard he is, the weight of it poking against his stomach. “You shouldn’t say things like that to me.”

“Why not?” Peter finds himself angling so his dick presses into Mr. Stark’s, making them both groan. He’s operating on pure instinct, but that’s gone well for him so far, so he lets it take over, rolling his hips. Mr. Stark moans.

He did that. Him. Peter Parker. He closes his eyes, but that just makes everything else even more overwhelming. The best kind of overwhelming. He’s going to come soon. He should be embarrassed, but he can’t find it in himself to care, this is too good.

“Because, Pete—” Mr. Stark’s hands are firm on Peter’s hips, tight, pulling them even closer, somehow. Impossibly. “It makes me want to do very dirty things to you.”

“Oh. Then I am _definitely_ going to keep saying things like that.” With a spark of inspiration, Peter thinks to add, “Sir.”

Neither of them last very long after that.

***

“You know,” Mr. Stark muses casually, when Peter emerges from the bathroom having done his best to clean the come from inside his pants. He’s a wrinkled mess, unlike Mr. Stark, who somehow looks perfectly put together even after what just happened. “I’ve been thinking. You’re a senior, now’s the time to get a jump on college. So maybe we up your internship hours. What do you say? Twice, three times a week? A whole weekend upstate a month? All expenses paid, of course. Think you could swing it?”

Peter can feel the smile burst across his face.

“Yeah, yeah, I think I can swing that.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feedback is loved <3


End file.
